


Special Delivery

by FreshBrains



Series: Femslash100 Mini Fics [62]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Community: femslash100, F/F, Flirting, Lingerie, Long-Distance Relationship, POV Leia Organa, Pre-Star Wars: The Last Jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-01 23:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13305963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: Be safe in the stars, and think of me in this—or out of it.





	Special Delivery

**Author's Note:**

> For the LJ Femslash100 Challenge #580 Remainder/#573 - communication.
> 
> I have not yet read _Leia, Princess of Alderaan_ , so that is not taken as canon for this fic.

“What,” Leia starts, voice curt with surprise, “in the farthest galaxy, is _this_?”

The Flight Cadet who hands off the message looks a little embarrassed, like he couldn’t hazard a guess. “It came off the transport from Gatalenta. I was instructed to bring it directly to you, General.”

_Gatalenta. Of course_ , Leia thinks, lips pursed as she hides a smile. _I wonder who that could be_. “Yes, thank you, Cadet. You’re dismissed.” Leia double checks to make sure the door slides securely shut when he leaves, then sets the package on the holo-table.

It’s a funny little thing, wrapped in brown paper. Paper is so scarce its almost unheard of to use it as such, but if anyone would do it, it would be Amilyn. Leia shuffles away the layers and leans back in her chair.

The package contains two things. One, a note— _handwritten_ , like they’re schoolyard lovers. The pen-writing is soft but precise.

_Be safe in the stars, and think of me in this—or out of it._

Leia’s face warms pleasantly as she unfolds a slip of sheer purple silk, a purple the color of a certain Vice Admiral’s hair. It’s shockingly short and transparent and the thought of a woman’s body underneath it—

“Cadet,” she calls out, and the poor Flight Cadet reappears almost immediately, still looking flustered. “Please find me an ink pen somewhere on this ship.” She flattens out the paper and turns it over. “I have some correspondence that requires the highest discretion.”


End file.
